The Billionaire and the Wild Man Page 7

“Listen to me,” I say quietly, reaching out to take her hand. She lets me, which I see as a positive sign. “Carrie, I do fancy you. Like mad, actually. Trust me, it’s my brain that stopped me back there, not my dick.” I smile as she giggles. “It’s just … things are complicated, aren’t they?” I pause, take a deep breath. “Can I be totally honest with you?”

  She nods, wide-eyed, and it’s all I can do to stop myself slipping my hand behind the base of her neck and pulling her in for a kiss. Closing my eyes briefly, I try to shove the thought away. I don’t succeed, not entirely, but I do manage to get enough of a grip on myself to say what I want to say. “Things are complicated. In so many bloody ways. I like you, Carrie, I really do. But I can’t help thinking about what would happen if we got together. I know most men would just go for it, go to bed with you, and not give a toss about the consequences. But I think you already know I’m not most men. I’ve been through some shit … which I’ll try and tell you about one day soon, perhaps after a couple of beers. But it’s made me appreciate life that much more, appreciate friends, relationships. I try my hardest to treat people better. And because I haven’t really got any friends, not any more, I don’t want to lose you if something more didn’t work out between us.”

  She tries to cut in. “Flynn—”

  “Please,” I say, squeezing her hand gently. “Let me finish. Once I’ve got it all out, you can say your bit.”

  She nods again, and I continue. “There’s also the small matter of me being a homeless, penniless bloke, and you’re a rich goddess that runs a hotel chain. If we were to get together, folk would think I was scrounging off you. And as much as I’d like more money—who wouldn’t, except maybe you—I don’t want to be a kept man. I’ve worked for my wages all of my life, still do, and that’s the way I like it. Perhaps I’m crazy, but I’m a traditional sort, and I’m too old to change now. Okay, I’m done. Your turn.”

  Carrie huffs out a breath, then brings my hand up to her mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “You’re not old, you idiot. But I get the bit about not changing. And I’m glad—I like you the way you are. As for what you said, I get it. I totally get that there are obstacles between us, things that could trip us up. I’ve got more than a few issues myself, as you know. Since we’re being totally honest, I am sorry I went off on one, but I’m not sorry we kissed. This will probably make me sound totally mushy or full of shit, but I can’t remember the last time someone made me feel the way you do.”

  My heart pounds faster, and the urge to kiss her returns with a vengeance, but I keep perfectly quiet and still. I suspect she’s not even this honest with her shrink, so I’m not about to ruin it now. She’s really opening up to me.

  “You know about what I do, who I am, but you don’t care. Well, not don’t care, but you don’t see it as what I am. Just what I do. Christ, am I making any sense?” She passes her free hand across her forehead, and I nod, smiling.

  “Carry on, sweetheart, I’m listening.”

  “You make me feel like a person, not just a bank balance, or a businesswoman, a CEO, whatever. To you, I’m just Carrie. Perhaps if we’d met under different circumstances, things would be different, but I’m glad we didn’t. I like being just Carrie, a woman who wanders around barefoot and has a crazy mother. Having said all that,” she scratches her head, and a tiny frown line appears between her eyebrows, “you’re obviously very aware of the billionaire CEO bit, because it’s putting you off pursuing anything with me.”

  Wow. So she’s actually a billionaire then. I’d suspected as much, but to have it confirmed… I manage to stifle my awe at her success, and reply to her. “Not just that. That’s a very small part of it. I’m a big boy, and if people want to think crap about me then they can. But I also wouldn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of your money and position. Mainly, though, I’m a bit fucked up and I’m frightened of getting attached to you romantically and losing the only thing resembling a friend that I’ve had since I went AWOL.”

  Carrie lets out a sound of irritation, which is pretty damn cute. I suppress a smile, knowing it’s not the right time for humor.

  “So what the hell do we do now? We like each other, but there’s crap in the way. I can’t make my money or career disappear in a cloud of smoke, and you can’t magic up a billion pound career of your own overnight. And even if you could, you can’t erase your past.”

  “I guess we just have to keep things platonic,” I say, but even as the words come out of my mouth, my fingers are entwining with hers, and every cell in my body is yearning for her, in the exact opposite way to platonic.

  She nods, but doesn’t pull her hand away. “Yeah, I guess we do. Just ignore that we fancy each other, and stick with being friends.” The tone of her voice sounds weird, almost strangled, and I notice she’s edging still closer to me, so close our bodies are touching.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Come to think of it, I sound a bit weird myself. I’m just contemplating what it means when Carrie does the very thing I’d been thinking about doing to her. She slips her hand around the back of my neck, tangles her fingers in my hair, and pulls me down toward her for a kiss. Her mouth is hot, wet and ready, and my brain is screaming no while the rest of me is telling it to fuck right off!

  Carrie’s holding pretty tight to my hair, and her mouth’s pressing hard against mine, so I pretend to myself that I can’t get away, pretend that I’m not strong enough. And, I soon realize, I’m not. Physically it wouldn’t be an issue, of course, but mentally and emotionally I’m exactly where I want to be. Well, mostly. In an ideal world we wouldn’t be snogging on a rock in the middle of the Peak District, as pretty as the setting is. We’d be in a nice bed somewhere, very private, with no chance of anyone disturbing us.

  I realize that although my mouth is responding to hers, my lips parted, my tongue exploring, the rest of my body is like a bloody statue. Blaming it on the shock, I reach out and pull her even closer. She moans, and my cock leaps. Barely knowing what I’m doing, I drag her onto my lap, so she’s straddling me. By some miracle, we manage all this with barely a pause in our kissing.

  I wrap my arms around her waist. With my hands wandering down to cup and squeeze her delectable buttocks, I make a decision. I can scarcely believe my brain has any function left, but somehow it comes to a conclusion.

  You have to sort this out, Flynn. You have to find a way for the two of you to be together. Yes, there are obstacles, but you of all people should know that life is short, life is precious. So you need to live it to the full. You need to be happy. Even if you think you don’t deserve it.

  I silently agree with myself, and hope like hell this doesn’t mean I’ve finally gone around the bend. Shoving the thought away, shoving all thoughts away, except those directly related to Carrie and our melded lips, I let myself truly savor the moment.

  It’s not difficult, in fairness. There’s a lot to be savored. Carrie’s lips are smooth, plump and skilled, her tongue eager and curious, and her body pressed against mine is truly divine. I’m still groping her bum, and enjoying it, too, and her boobs are squashed into my chest. She’s gorgeous, perfect, and is doing very naughty things to my libido. Our little heart-to-heart seems to have added something extra to whatever’s between us.

  Don’t get me wrong, the earlier kissing by the river was great, but even though Carrie doesn’t currently have her hand down the front of my trousers, this is better. More honest, and somehow more real.

  Which is ridiculous, really, when you consider we just decided two minutes ago that we were going to remain platonic. Now, it’s been a while since I’ve been in the vicinity of a dictionary, but I’m pretty sure this is not what it means. I don’t care, though, not really. Carrie’s one hell of a woman, and although I suspect it’ll take some hard work on both our parts, I think we could be bloody good together.

  As though reading my mind, Carrie deepens the kiss further. I didn’t think it was possible, but apparently it is. Our teeth clash and our lip
s squash bruisingly together as she writhes on my lap, rocking her groin against my cock, which, naturally, is fully erect and threatening to rip a hole in my trousers. I want to lie her flat on the rock we’re on, strip her clothes off and explore her body the way I’m exploring her mouth. I want to lick and nibble her nipples, cup her breasts, make her moan. I want to spread her thighs and taste her pussy, tease her swollen lips and aching clit until she screams my name so loud it echoes through the valley.

  But I can’t do any of that, so I content myself by continuing to caress her arse with one hand, and creep the other around to touch her breasts again, hoping like hell we don’t get another canine visitor. I love dogs, but if I get cock-blocked by another bloody Jack Russell, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.

  Fortunately, nothing of the sort happens, and I manage to shove her t-shirt up out of the way, pull the cups of her bra down and stroke the soft flesh of her boobs, squeezing them, listening carefully to her moans and groans to figure out what she likes, and what she doesn’t. Apparently, she likes it a little rough, as when I apply more pressure, her groans increase in volume. I bear this in mind as I switch my attention to her nipples, pinching and rolling them between finger and thumb, pulling them towards me, stretching the nubs further.

  They’re just so delicious that I can’t resist having a taste. Breaking our kiss, I trail my lips across her jaw and throat, licking, kissing and nibbling along the way. The sounds that come from her send bolt after bolt of lust to my groin. Christ, I want her, and I’m not being big-headed, but unless she’s the queen of faking it, she wants me, too. How did I ever think we could be platonic?

  Skipping over the scrunched-up material of her t-shirt, I now kiss her upper chest, teasing her just a little longer before I finally close my lips around one of her nipples. She grunts and swears, grinding her crotch harder against mine, and I swear I can feel her heat, even through our layers of clothing. God, I want to feel her heat with no barriers, feel her wetness, her need.

  I let out a groan of my own, and the vibration must carry through to Carrie’s nipple as she shoves her hands into my hair, holding on tight, and tugs me closer to her—which seems impossible, but somehow she manages it. I’m now all but buried in her gorgeous breasts, mashed against them. The underwire of her bra presses into my chin, but I’m still trying hard to pleasure her. I can barely breathe, barely move, and this seems to register as she loosens her hold a little, flashing me a smile that’s apologetic, almost shy.

  Tipping her a wink, I continue to play with her, running my tongue across every inch of her exposed flesh. I follow up by rubbing my cheeks and chin across the same area, my stubble no doubt abrading the skin, but apparently she likes it. A gasp, a handful of swear words, and I can’t resist doing it again, and again. I concentrate on her nipples, the sound of my coarse hair against her wrinkled nubs making me grin. But nowhere near as much as the sounds that Carrie is making. It seems breast play really does it for her. I haven’t so much as touched her belt, never mind anything beyond it, and she sounds like she’s ready to come.

  Mind you, I don’t think for a minute that she will. Not here, not now, and certainly not from me playing with her tits alone. She’s responsive—Christ, is she responsive—but my ego is nowhere near big enough to believe that I can make her come without going anywhere near her clit. Part of me doesn’t want to, either. It’d be nice to feel like I had some kind of superpower, but equally, if I’m going to make her come, I want it to be on my face. Her swollen lips on my swollen lips, her clit on my tongue, her sweet juices in my mouth. Maybe even my fingers in her tight pussy, pressing up against her G-spot, adding a whole other layer of pleasure to her orgasm.

  I suckle and nibble the tips of her breasts for a while longer, but then I pull away. I have to. Our gazes lock, and I run a hand through my hair, brushing my fingers against hers in the process.

  “Sorry,” I say, “I’ve gotta stop. If I don’t, I might up doing something rather inappropriate, right here, right now.”

  She lets out a breathy laugh. Her lips are plump and wet, her cheeks are pink, and there’s an abandoned look in her eye that’s so hot I almost forget what I just said and start stripping her clothes off.

  “God,” she says, finally finding her voice, “right now I’d kill for a bit of inappropriate, but I agree this isn’t the time or the place.”

  Chapter Eight

  I really want to fuck him right there on the rock, but he’s right. It isn’t appropriate and one of us probably will slip a disk from trying to. So, as much as I want to push him back down and have my wicked way, I back up and let him lead me home.

  We chat inanely until we get close to Mum’s.

  “Thanks for today.” I smile. “It was good to get away.”

  “Sure, no problem. You know I’ve got work on tomorrow, but maybe we can meet again on Friday?”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “I’d like that. It’ll have to be the afternoon though, because Mum will insist on dragging me out to Buxton to do the shopping in the morning.”

  “Okay, well I’ll loiter by the tree at the back of your house about two-ish then.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “Right, well, I better go. You don’t need to be seen walking with me through the village.” He passes me the bag back. It’s significantly lighter, thanks to our curtailed picnic, the Jack Russell, and the snacking we did after our sexy interlude on the rock.

  “Thanks, Flynn. See you soon.”

  “See ya.” He waves, turns and walks off. I watch him for a moment. He slows. I think he might turn back, but he doesn’t, picking up the pace once more and continuing on. I’m disappointed.

  Sighing, I head indoors.

  “Wow, you’ve put a good dint in your lunch, love,” Mum says.

  “Yeah, I went for a good long walk, so I needed the sustenance. Also I shared my sausages with a passing dog.”

  Mum laughs as I give her the heavily edited version of the incident with the curious dog and the picnic, and for the first time since being back, I feel content to be with her.

  “I’m glad you’ve had a good time. You can tell Doctor Sherrington all about it tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, I will.” I yawn and stretch, the exertions of the day catching up with me. I manage to stay awake long enough to eat, then shower, but not long after that I trudge to bed. I miss technology as I settle down under my sheets. I want to talk to Flynn, but there’s no way I can do that. I don’t even know where he lives, apart from a vague reference to a derelict building near Newhaven. I can’t even send him a text with us both being phoneless. He’s off the grid, so he’d not have a mobile would he? Why do I want to contact him so much? It’s a bit unsettling. I’m not sure I’ve been so needy since my teenage years. Normally, I use men and forget about them, but I feel empty without Flynn beside me and I don’t mean that in just a rude sense. What is it about him that has him lodged in my thoughts? Clearly, I’m sexually frustrated. Just remembering his lips around my nipples draws a reluctant moan from me. I want to finish what we’ve started and stopped so many times.

  He’s still on my mind when I get to Dr. Sherrington’s office the next day.

  “How are you?” he asks. God, that’s usually such an innocent enquiry, but is the heaviest of loaded questions coming from his lips.

  “I’m okay, actually. Mum and I have kinda talked a bit, and I tried doing what you said. It didn’t work quite as I expected, but it did work.”

  “That’s great. One step at a time, Caroline, such things don’t change overnight.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “What have you done since last time I saw you?”

  “Oh, I went for a hike. It was great.”

  “On your own?” He arches an eyebrow. Clearly he knows me well enough to realize how out of character that is. I’m about to go with the official story, that yes, I had gone off on my own, but I find myself telling the doc all about Flynn. I leave out the sexy bits, th
ough.

  “Does your mum know about this man?” he asks, expertly finding the sorest point to prod at.

  “God, no. She’d go mental.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Have you listened to what I just told you? He’s essentially a tramp. He lives in an empty building, has no proper job, his hair is huge, and his clothes are scruffy. Mum would go crazy if she knew I was hanging out with him. She’d send me back to the loony bin to have my brains felt!”

  “But from what you’ve told me, he’s a nice guy, you like him, he’s helped you through times of difficulty. Surely she’d appreciate that?”

  “Well, maybe, but it’s Mum. She likes things spotless and just so. Flynn doesn’t conform to any of those expectations.” At that very moment, I realize that is why I find him so attractive. He won’t conform, he does what he wants, and doesn’t give a shit what people think of him. I really want to be more like that.

  “I can’t tell you what to do, Caroline, but please think about introducing Flynn to your mother as he’s clearly very important to you.”

  It hits me that the doctor could see that and I’ve not even told him about the sexual chemistry. My stomach flips with anxiety. I don’t like being dependent on anyone else but me.

  I ponder the advice of the good doctor all afternoon. It’s another lovely day, a little cooler with clouds scudding across the sky, but dry and warm and ideal for sitting out in the back garden and reading. Mum’s happy pottering around pulling weeds and titivating. It’s the perfect time to mention Flynn, but I just can’t get the words out. I’m afraid of what she’ll say. The relative peace between us is a new experience, and I don’t want to shatter it so soon.

  The next morning, Mum seems to be working really hard to shatter that peace as she drags me around the supermarket assuming things left, right, and center.

  “I usually get myself a jar of curry, you know. But you’re such a fussy thing I’m sure you wouldn’t like a korma, would you?”